Quick Update - New Cover on Audible for Love Hunt - Dating Game - A Kiss and Email Romantic Comedy!

With Bridget Jones soon to return to the big screen, it seems that chic-lit lovers are searching for something similar - lucky me! So I have changed my LOVE HUNT - DATING GAME cover on Audible, ITunes and Amazon Audio to match the LOVE HUNT books on Amazon. I would love to hear any comments you have. You can tweet to me on Rubywritesbooks or comment below... Thank you all for your support and suggestions on the colour for the covers! It is great to hear what you are looking for when buying a book!  It seems pink, pink and very bright pink will capture your attention!

LINK TO LOVE HUNT - DATING GAME - A KISS & EMAIL ROMANTIC COMEDY!
http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-Dating-Game-Audiobook/B015G4ICYA/ref=a_search_c4_1_6_srTtl?qid=1471533226&sr=1-6

Clan Destine - Thriller / Espionage Novel

 

How would you feel if you knew there were women out there who worked to protect the innocent from the cruel, depraved, and vindictive people who walked Earth? The Feminas, an elite group of women trained to assassinate in calculated feminine ways, work for the CLAN. They don't use guns or their bodies as lures; instead they are calculated, precise, and not easily traced when removing their targets. They are the "grey women" who blend in, observe, and create perfect accidents.

Eve, one of the Feminas, excels at target eradication. However, her compulsion for perfection causes the CLAN concern. The more she attempts to conceal her tapping to the beat of 10, the more she feels she's breaking down. The problem is that when one suppresses emotions, then the trauma will rise in other ways. So how can Eve maintain her perfect targeting record and reconcile her denied self without facing a whitewash process?

 

Link to Ruby Allure books on Audible:

http://www.audible.com/search/ref=a_hp_tseft?advsearchKeywords=Ruby+allure&filterby=field-keywords&x=0&y=0

http://www.audible.com/pd?asin=B015YJ3P8K&action_code=AUDORWS0424159DCE

 

Frode 10-20-15

Frode 10-20-15 Member Since 2015

Norwegian in a English world!

 

"Dead Women Have Books"

Clan Destine: Dead Women Have Vendettas by Ruby Allure is my third book by Ruby Allure. AND: Its the best! Money Farm and The Office Zoo are both funny and good. This is darker, and i like, no wait; I freaking love it! Yes this not the most funny one, no it does not have the lough out loud moments, but the humor works even where it is a thriller. I recommend all the books i read by Ruby, and i cant wait to see what she is going to do next.

Mil Nicholson is the perfect voice for this book, her british accent is just what this book need. It is read with love and i do feel that. 11 hrs and 17 mins never feels boring, uninteresting or just bad. It feels right!

Ruby Allure is maybe new to you, but i see all bright things in her future.

 

Love Hunt II - The Love Game in Animation

 

Link to Ruby Allure books on Audible: http://www.audible.com/search/ref=a_hp_tseft?advsearchKeywords=Ruby+allure&filterby=field-keywords&x=0&y=0

 

 

 

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-Dating-Game-Audiobook/B015G4ICYA/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1448187651&sr=1-1

Come on admit it - as much as we deny it - we ladies like a good love hunt.

We have tick lists, ideals, and we hunt in high-heeled packs. Of course, we're all hunting for that elusive right man who ticks every box and even has tidy nostril hair. Okay maybe not you, but you know other ladies who love the hunt.

Well, it's time for Eva and Gracie to love hunt, and their "targets" are rich men - the golden sperm. Such exciting escapades would provide the pair with entertaining discussions during their dull office hours - or so they thought. What they did not anticipate was the discovery of the "booby man"; humorous but very hard truths about wealth, themselves, power; and the RichIdiot.com phenomenon.

The question remains: can love really be hunted?

 

 

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-II-The-Love-Game-Audiobook/B0176Z9Y08/ref=a_search_c4_1_7_srImg?qid=1448187651&sr=1-7

The Love Hunt has returned. Gracie is back on the dating horse after a huge fall in her first tick-list-tastic love hunt.

Her new dating adventures take her and Eva into the depths of "the love game".

In the meantime, Eva, the ultimate Russian gold digger, has come to the conclusion that her poor "village idiot boyfriend" will never be enough. He will certainly not pay off her accumulating debts. She needs a rich man, and that means rich idiot dating.

In The Love Game, Eva and Gracie travel the journey of extreme love learning. On the way, they will discover their love and lust lists, their intrinsic issues, and experience some hilarious and jaw-dropping dates in pursuit of the wealthy ideal.

All of this in the pursuit of love.

The Love Hunt II is on!

 

Well we just have two more posts left - Love Hunt 2 Day number 5 of 7

LOVE HUNT DAY 5 of 7

Hello Gracie,

I have no time to write big email because boss is being bitch. She has given me more work because I hit one hundred payments. The wobbly bottom women are chatting about new year diets while I make rapid payments. Why is this fair? I work too hard for no reward. Thank you for telling me about the word fanny. Now I have big understanding why the managing director started coughing when I said ‘I was so fanny in a meeting the other day’. He didn’t know where to look so he stared at my chest which was perfectly arranged.

 

Also I have seen Abdi, he gave me a strange look and winked like he was some kind of Men’s health model. He seems to be spending more time by the drinks machine looking at women. So he will have plenty to admire around your office. What about you? What do you have to look at?

Eva

 

Oh Eva,

In terms of office talent, from my point of view I have had a glance around the office and there are two potential office sexual fantasies but nothing of any really exciting kind. I would love to watch a male hotty-totty walk in slow motion through the office to break up my metric calculations. Or one of those well-formed bottoms to draw my attention. Nothing like that here at the moment. Rubbish! In the meantime, the office pervert has developed his drooling technique and the office bore has moved desks. I will have to time my toilet visits to avoid monotonous stories about beavers or badgers. My worst moment was when he accosted me by the drinks machine and detailed the mating cycle of the Salmon. It was hideous, people in the area were shaking with laughter as I attempted to make every excuse to escape... God this is going to be difficult – having to run the gauntlet between the perv, the bore and detouring past the two office sexual fantasies. Amazing... Do you think it would be weird to bring a pole vault to work?

Will talk later... New Year, New Life and a New Phase of discussion... I feel exhilarated and ready... Bring it on!

Gracie.

 

Hello again Gracie,

Sorry it is end of day but payments must be made – boo! That is why I am here. Some of the work girls are circling me to see why I smile at computer. Not a good thing. They know that I type fast on daily basis. I think my emails are being watched... Do I sound paranoid?

 

In truth, I do not think pole vault could be sneaked past security. Unless you pole vault security while back is turned. Imagine having huge pole under your arm as you walk through the security turnstile. How do you explain? You could say it is after work hobby or activity.

 

Now I have big question: I have to know what is happening with Andreas. Have you heard from him or anymore men from the how you now call it  ‘wealthy wally website?’ You said you had something to tell me when I saw you by drinks machine. Thought it sounded good. Sorry I could not talk for long, my manager has been timing me at drinks machine and toilet visit. She has told me to stop doing extra make-up while in there. Personally I think it is jealousy. They don’t want me to look good to stop men admiring me. Tomorrow I will wear ultimate uplift bra to make a point. Won’t wear make-up but will decorate room with other assets! Then see what they say! Post-Christmas decoration.

Have to catch the bus now... Close to five!

Night!

Eva.



To Listen on audio:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-II-The-Love-Game-Audiobook/B0176Z9Y08/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srTtl?qid=1447097231&sr=1-1

The paperback on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Love-Hunt-II-Richidiot-com-dating/dp/1517542316/ref=la_B00M9Y4GAA_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447096640&sr=1-3

  

You want more??? Okay... Love Hunt 2 Day 4

To Listen on audio:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-II-The-Love-Game-Audiobook/B0176Z9Y08/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srTtl?qid=1447097231&sr=1-1

 
Dear Gracie,

I feel sad for woman with flatulence husband but she would not have been at a beautiful hotel without him. She would probably work as waitress. She would not have been able to afford beautiful clothes and her body perfection has been paid for. Without him she would not be living such a lifestyle. I see what she has sacrificed to get what she needs. Many women do this. Which is better? Make sacrifice to get what you want and a lifestyle you desire or work hard but never get anywhere? Not everyone is super intelligent and can have good jobs. Others have different assets. She had beauty that she invested in to get a better return. Her beauty has enabled her a carefree lifestyle with manicures and massages. This is what I dream of. Do you see my side now? I would put up with nostril hair and rancid fart for beautiful lifestyle. Sad isn’t it. I don’t want to work and work like a dog making shyte payments. I want to be pampered. I want to be the princess!

How are your team?

Eva

 

Hello Eva,

I understand what you are saying but it is technically prostitution in that you compromise yourself in exchange for a commodity. I understand that people have different talents, yet maybe she has some unrealised talent which she could contribute to the world rather than sexually service an old chap in leopard skin budgie smugglers. I don’t know her full story and it is not for me to judge. In truth I was more horrified by his intestinal jet propulsion through the swimming pool.

 

Oh it seems that the naughty boys really have missed me. They have not tried to annoy me once and Abdi actually smiled and patted me like a dog. He said ‘welcome back, I have missed my wing-woman and I even have saved you a bounty chocolate from the Christmas celebrations chocolates. It is the only flavour I don’t like so I saved it for you.’

 

Imagine Abdi actually shared something with me... Astounding! He is also the only person I have seen lose weight over Christmas. Something is going on. He has a look in his eye which suggests ‘naughty and determined.’ That combination of traits is something I have not seen in him before. I sense danger, predatory sausage and a couple of new women in the office. It seems the office hotty has competition. Not only has Boobilicious Beth been trumped because there is a new oriental woman who is stunning. Across the way there is a pristine blonde with a slow motion hair-flick and one of those white shirts that reveals the details of her lace bra. She keeps photo-copying with the lid up so that the light reveals all the more. I wondered why Abdi and Greg have moved closer to the photocopier. They are as transparent as her blouse!

 

You know what Eva? This is suspect, Abdi has a new suit, more deodorant than ever and a new pair of shoes. I went for a walk to the coffee machine with Gary, we have both noticed the shift in him. There is an underlying smoothness developing. Gary is going to wind him up about it. Since Gary works with coding, he is going to set up an anonymous email account and say that he has been watching Abdi and notices he has changed his suit. He is going to say the powers that be have noticed his newly found self-confidence. Oh this will be fun.

Gracie.

Dear Gracie,

I feel sad for woman with flatulence husband but she would not have been at a beautiful hotel without him. She would probably work as waitress. She would not have been able to afford beautiful clothes and her body perfection has been paid for. Without him she would not be living such a lifestyle. I see what she has sacrificed to get what she needs. Many women do this. Which is better? Make sacrifice to get what you want and a lifestyle you desire or work hard but never get anywhere? Not everyone is super intelligent and can have good jobs. Others have different assets. She had beauty that she invested in to get a better return. Her beauty has enabled her a carefree lifestyle with manicures and massages. This is what I dream of. Do you see my side now? I would put up with nostril hair and rancid fart for beautiful lifestyle. Sad isn’t it. I don’t want to work and work like a dog making shyte payments. I want to be pampered. I want to be the princess!

How are your team?

Eva

 

Hello Eva,

I understand what you are saying but it is technically prostitution in that you compromise yourself in exchange for a commodity. I understand that people have different talents, yet maybe she has some unrealised talent which she could contribute to the world rather than sexually service an old chap in leopard skin budgie smugglers. I don’t know her full story and it is not for me to judge. In truth I was more horrified by his intestinal jet propulsion through the swimming pool.

 

Oh it seems that the naughty boys really have missed me. They have not tried to annoy me once and Abdi actually smiled and patted me like a dog. He said ‘welcome back, I have missed my wing-woman and I even have saved you a bounty chocolate from the Christmas celebrations chocolates. It is the only flavour I don’t like so I saved it for you.’

 

Imagine Abdi actually shared something with me... Astounding! He is also the only person I have seen lose weight over Christmas. Something is going on. He has a look in his eye which suggests ‘naughty and determined.’ That combination of traits is something I have not seen in him before. I sense danger, predatory sausage and a couple of new women in the office. It seems the office hotty has competition. Not only has Boobilicious Beth been trumped because there is a new oriental woman who is stunning. Across the way there is a pristine blonde with a slow motion hair-flick and one of those white shirts that reveals the details of her lace bra. She keeps photo-copying with the lid up so that the light reveals all the more. I wondered why Abdi and Greg have moved closer to the photocopier. They are as transparent as her blouse!

 

You know what Eva? This is suspect, Abdi has a new suit, more deodorant than ever and a new pair of shoes. I went for a walk to the coffee machine with Gary, we have both noticed the shift in him. There is an underlying smoothness developing. Gary is going to wind him up about it. Since Gary works with coding, he is going to set up an anonymous email account and say that he has been watching Abdi and notices he has changed his suit. He is going to say the powers that be have noticed his newly found self-confidence. Oh this will be fun.

Gracie.

To Listen on audio:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-II-The-Love-Game-Audiobook/B0176Z9Y08/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srTtl?qid=1447097231&sr=1-1

The paperback on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Love-Hunt-II-Richidiot-com-dating/dp/1517542316/ref=la_B00M9Y4GAA_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447096640&sr=1-3

 

 

 

You Asked For It! Love Hunt 2 - The LOVE Game Chapter 1

Well you asked for it... Last week Love Hunt 2 - The Love Game came out on audio and I was asked why I have not been sharing the opening Chapters. It is simple - I was on my holidays... So here we go... I have to say I still can't believe the opening scene!

BLURB:

The Love Hunt has returned. Gracie is back on the dating horse after a huge fall in her first tick-list-tastic love hunt.
Her new dating adventures take her and Eva into the depths of "the love game".
In the meantime, Eva, the ultimate Russian gold digger, has come to the conclusion that her poor "village idiot boyfriend" will never be enough. He will certainly not pay off her accumulating debts. She needs a rich man, and that means rich idiot dating.
In The Love Game, Eva and Gracie travel the journey of extreme love learning. On the way, they will discover their love and lust lists, their intrinsic issues, and experience some hilarious and jaw-dropping dates in pursuit of the wealthy ideal.
All of this in the pursuit of love.
The Love Hunt II is on!

LOVE HUNT II

The LOVE game

 

From the Richidiot.com series

 

Volume 2

 

Copyright Ruby Allure 2014

All rights fall with Ruby Allure.

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

Happy New Year Gracie!!! Welcome back to Winter Wonder England. Did you like my Russian play on words? How many glamorous blonde Russian women do you know who can play with English language and make brilliance with their sentence? I am not showing usual modesty because I am feeling very proud! You know I almost said welcome back to Winter Wonder Bra but that would involve up-lift with icicle hanging from nipple. Frozen bosom is not nice image for anyone. Erect nipples often cause embarrassment but large icicles sticking out would draw big attention. People would notice and do strange eye thing at each other. Of course some men would stop and stare – as if they need any excuse!

 

Now I have question – the word icicle... How does that work because you ice a cake don’t you? So would you ice a nipple too? It sounds similar does it not? Ici-nipple. I am just thinking out loud about strange English sayings. The English language is so fanny!

 

Anyway, I missed you while you were away. Poor liar boyfriend from rich idiot site has no money and asked me to lend him some to buy food. I can’t even pay bloody electricity bill. Choice boyfriend’s food or electricity?

 

Work was boring and there were no decent gossips. Women in office suffer from post-Christmas fattyness and bloated bottoms get stuck in chairs. One woman went to stand up and chair stayed firmly fixed on squidgy behind. When she sat down again there was loud – how you say – raspberry noise. No-one said anything. We all silently side-glanced as she tried to pretend nothing had happened. I thought such incident would make you raise a newly spa’d eyebrow!

 

Anyway, I want to know about Miami and if you made a new man tick list for this year. It is time for us to focus on finding you the right exciting man. As you say, let’s get the Rocky music on and have you back in the ring. Forget about Andreas and his stupid penis brain. You might have got knocked out in first round by him but you now know how he punches – with small dick. You know his game but he does not know yours. Oh I did small clap. I am joggling in my seat. That is new word combination that I think should be added to dictionary. Small jog with moving arms and wiggling on seat! Anyway, you can use your dating ‘game’ knowledge to your advantage and rise again (I looked up ‘dating game’ on web – provides very interesting stories).

 

Anyway, you know we need dating entertainment and analysis to get us through boring days. This time of year is when gyms are filled with squidgy shaking bottoms and everyone pretends to eat fruit but hide in toilet cubicles sneaking cake... So I need you here doing more dating disasters. We need to discuss analyse and learn new things about men, wealth and life! I can’t bear the bulbus bottom brigade (this is your saying – I wrote it down). I need a distraction. Oh what fun! La, la, laaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

 

I made another small clap. Three grey-knicker women in office jumped at the sound. All three chairs went in air with their fat bottoms. This could be dangerous situation, we might need first aider and goose fat to get them out at home time! Horrible thought – applying goose fat to wobbly grey-knicker bottoms!

Eva

 

To Listen on audio:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Love-Hunt-II-The-Love-Game-Audiobook/B0176Z9Y08/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srTtl?qid=1447097231&sr=1-1

The paperback on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Love-Hunt-II-Richidiot-com-dating/dp/1517542316/ref=la_B00M9Y4GAA_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447096640&sr=1-3

 

 

Chapter 5 CLAN DESTINE - Dead Women Have Vendettas

http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-Thrillers/Clan-Destine-Dead-Women-Have-Vendettas-Audiobook/B015YJ3P8K/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1444588860&sr=1-1

 

CHAPTER 5

 

Once inside her flat, Eve sat facing the window and stared at the blank piece of paper. While it was empty her secrets were safe. As soon as she placed them down on that paper, the pen would blurt her mind – those same thoughts would became real. She admired the blank paper. It was so pure, virginal, so untouched and so unruined. It felt almost cruel to taint it with her dark thoughts. Yet there was so much space to explore, reveal and reflect. She shouldn’t write but the last disclosure had helped. Maybe fictional people should have an insight into how she thought. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just burn it.

 

Dear Friend,

After today's little surprise I’ve been considering the psychology of what I do. I was de-briefed by Sue today, she’s our resident shrink. She remains removed from what we do, but analyses us all, every little nuance. It’s apparently crucial that we’re all kept in check. In the beginning a few of the Feminas suppressed their emotions and broke down. There are rumours of physical reactions such as convulsions and paralysis. Others are rumoured to have ended up with bizarre forms of cancer. After that information came to light Madam had us all regularly debriefed. She is a firm believer in the fact that when people suppress their emotions those emotions take on other forms. Who knows what they are? Still I don’t know whether I’ve been affected. As always I feel completely numb. As if looking at the world through a window, not actually present. Sue calls this ‘my removal defence’. She says war photographers do the same thing. By looking through a camera it becomes a barrier, the lens of violence, they are removed from the whole situation. If you ask me it’s just more theories.

As for Sue’s history: it’s said that she was battered to death by her husband and left for dead. When the bastard went to the bathroom to wash his hands and have a wank she took her opportunity and grabbed a golf club and battered him back.  Of course she was given life, even though her actions were purely in self-defence.

 

Madam is somewhat of an enigma, she established the CLAN about thirty years ago. She was in her early twenties then. Rumours are rife about her. Only a few know the truth and they keep it strictly to themselves. Apparently when she believes you’re ready she’ll take you aside and reveal her story.

Madam hand picks each Femina; it’s one of her peculiar talents. Before she even approaches an individual she has each candidate profiled, and tests their DNA; she believes personality traits are evident at cell level. Once the individual conforms to the profile, if the footprint is right and the characteristics are in evidence, then she brings them in and conducts a personal one-to-one session. From that one conversation, and armed with the genetic profile, Madam makes a final decision. During this process the individual is led to believe they are involved in a sentence lessening interview. But no - it’s nothing like that.

 

All aspects of the genetic fingerprint are checked and every part of the individual’s history is analysed. Madam’s intention is to know the individual better than they have ever known themselves. Such is the depth of the background analysis, there is even a list of past boyfriends which includes the time and date of virginity loss. She sifts everything to the minutest detail.  Privacy disappears.

 

If a girl satisfies the criteria she will be adopted. However, there are a number of rules: they have to be without family, without parents and without ties. Each recruit has to have killed in self-defence - blooded and thus have crossed the Rubicon of innocence to that of a killer.

Each woman taken has to have endured intense physical pain. Usually they are educated, if not they will be educated. Although they must have a high I.Q., the ability to learn and retain information and not disclose anything is paramount. Obviously I write this now, but names, locations and systems are altered. This could never be traced to the CLAN, and even if it was, there are plenty of procedures in place to divert attention. No-one will ever find out.

Once it’s clear you’re the perfect round peg for the same shaped hole, you are then taken to a room and offered a choice: rot in a cell, be chemically despatched or be trained to kill. What would you choose? I thought so. What’s more, from the selection process no-one ever said no. Either Madam has an ability to choose, or the ones who said no have miraculously disappeared. No-one talks of these things.

 

Once adopted you say good-bye, not au revoir, to that old identity and assume the new persona. You, whoever is reading this, may think that’s wonderful. It isn’t. Once the contract is signed usually there will be a faked obituary notifying of your death either accidental or suicide.

A cremation follows within days and there is no grave, just a small floral tribute and the undertaker is instructed to scatter the ashes in the Remembrance Garden. No trace, no exhumation opportunities. The old self has disappeared forever. All manner of procedure is set in place: Authenticity is the key.

 

Next comes the confrontation process: time to face all your issues, the origins and trace your patterns. At this point you go through the depths of your personal hell. You face every dormant demon including every emotional scar. You then release it. Your Psyche is crushed, you breakdown. Everything you ever held back rises and attacks. Cry for days? That’s not the half of it. The very pit of your being is waved in front of your face until you accept it. You feel your interior collapse and belief systems shredded. You are not who you thought you are. When this happened to me I retched, shook and convulsed.

 

Still it didn’t stop there. I can’t say any more about that at this time; the thought of it makes me cold. One thing I will say is that emotional pain is far worse than physical pain. After facing my fears and tracing my patterns I was boxed as a border-line schizoid personality with an obsession for detail. The analysis is a way of dividing the Femina and utilising their natural skills: some are planners, some manipulate and others are just plain vindictive.

 

            Once you’ve bared your soul, the CLAN will kindly re-program you. In your broken mess the CLAN gives you a new identity and a motivation to live. You are given a new face, a new body and a new life. That is once you’ve signed the contract. You have to accept you will never be the same. Then comes the training.

 

The CLAN’s training isn’t of a standard format. We don’t all line up at a gun alley and shoot wearing sprayed on trousers, nothing like that. Yes, we learn to handle a gun, but you rarely use it. There are far more calculated ways of killing that are not masculinised, Hollywoodised or bullshitised. Plus, the golden rule is that you only kill proven offenders who are likely to offend again or have offended after release.

 

At this point I would like to say I don’t just exclusively kill men. If a woman is actively involved in hurting an innocent, I would happily take her out too. However, the truth is: women are less violent than men. The second truth: more women die at the hands of men than the other way round.

I can imagine my life to you might seem alien. What I suppose, is odd about my life is my routine. This morning I started the day with a high protein shake; you can’t be a fat killer  how would you escape? You wouldn’t be able to jump walls or sprint. Without being able to escape you quickly become the victim. So are you fit? Do you take care of your body? I view my body as a machine. A machine I want kept at its optimum condition. If I bought a fast car I wouldn’t fill it with crap and leave it in a garage would I or you?

 

So what do I do to maintain myself? I would say that on average I run between five and fifteen miles every other day. Some days I do hill training, other days I just run, the rhythmic pounding sends me away. What’s more I always run in the dark, wearing black. I often run to sort out my mind, to release the gruesome scenes I experience daily.

 

When you kill you see horrendous things. Some people beg, others scream. While others silently wait for the inevitable. Then there are the violent fighters who cling to life like it owes them: if they struggle hard enough they’ll survive. They never have.

Well I should go, I hope this is a missive of enlightenment.

 

EVE

 

Eve put down her pen and stretched her fingers. It wasn’t often she wrote for such a length of time. She blotted the paper with a pretty silver and hardwood blotter, like a rocking chair. Absorbing the ink, and rendering the paper safe to be folded with precision, just exactly like the others before this one. She returned to the box on her mantelpiece. She stood for a moment thinking. She was not going to keep her musings in such an obvious location, instead she was going to keep the box where no-one would think to look for it.

            Eve sat in front of her fireplace. She took a big zip-lock plastic bag, placed the box inside, zipping it shut and expelling the air at the same time. Once fully deflated she stashed it on a ledge inside the chimney-breast. The only one finding it would be Santa Clause and that was highly improbable. If the worst came to the worst, using the large brass tongs that were resting on the logs in the hearth, Eve could reach inside and dislodge the box and it would be instantly engulfed in a roaring log fire. All traces of these self-styled confessions turned to ashes in a trice. 

            Admiring the white chimney stack, she sat for a moment. Everything in her house was in complete order. Everything was clean, in alignment and nothing would ever be out of place. Even the angles were always correct. She was completely in control.

            Shee took some deep breaths and moved to her training mat. She did her daily one hundred press-ups, countless sit ups and then numerous repetitions with free weights. She did not sweat, her body was used to it. When she was finished she stood by her curtains and glanced out of her window. In the darkness a man with a red Rover was unloading his car; she assumed the stranger was moving in. She rolled her eyes, any man who owned a red car was drawing attention to his sexuality. Admittedly he was a fit looking man with dark hair, strong arms and an air of business about him. Eve sighed, she would keep away, even if he knocked at the door and tried to introduce himself she could not socialise. She had to keep herself to herself. That was all part of who she was – an internal sort. Eve glanced at the fountain pen. A few other details occurred to her. She should write them whilst she thought of them.

 

Dear Friend,

You may be interested to know that the contract states what you must eat and a minimum level of exercise. That minimum exercise makes you an athlete. When I write it down it seems so ridiculous, but what was the alternative? At the time becoming what I am now seemed so right. I do find it astounding how many times my face has altered, yet still the physical scar I carry is too deep to ever remove. I accept it will be there until I die.

 I don’t often dwell on the past. I want to move forwards never looking back. Never pitying the woman that was once me - the victim. When I do catch glimpses of her in the mirror I wonder about emotions and why I now have none. I wonder if after ‘that day’ I took them to a subconscious vault.

When I was younger I wasn’t particularly emotional. I was trained not to be. Any tantrum I had cold water splashed in my face. Any upset I was beaten. Is it any wonder the patterns developed and I became who I am? Is it any wonder I now live and breathe this profession? If, of course, killing can be called a profession.

 

I think I have said enough for one day. I need to run, to get the dynamo working. That way my mind is clear and clutter free for my strategy forming. My inaccessible mind works on the strategies and kindly reveals them through dreams or flashes of inspiration.

EVE

 

Eve set down her pen, folded her paper and placed it in the box. As was now customary she replaced the box in the chimney on its inner ledge. She sighed then made her way to her bedroom. It seemed the more she let out the more that wanted to come out.  Eve took ten deep breaths and then proceeded to change. She paused and glanced around her bedroom. It was stark, the walls were bare, and there were no images, nothing. Her sheets were white as was her lamp. Everything in her life was sterile. The only objects she kept were books and those books were aligned behind a white screen on a series of white shelves. Behind that screen was a hidden white room where her computer and Internet were set up.   

            The sound of rain pattering against the window caught her attention and her shoulders dropped. No-one else would be out running in that weather, not unless they were insane or her. Eve went to her built-in wardrobe and selected her running gear from ten exact pairs. She dressed in her black running bottoms, black vest top and black sweater with a hood. On top of that she put on a black light-weight waterproof. She tied up her hair, pulled down firmly on a black baseball cap and tied her trainers. Everything she had was logo-less. Everything she wore stopped her being identified.

            When she was ready she took her black camel pack and filled it with water. She then left through her front door. After she had locked it she headed for the stairs, checked the stairwell and then proceeded to skip down. Her body knew what was coming and acted like an excited dog about to be taken for a walk. It was ready to go, almost desperate...

            Eve was pre-occupied with her thoughts as she descended the last flight. Just as she was about to open the door the guy from the red car collided with her. 

            ‘Sorry,’ said the guy.

Eve put her head down and said nothing. Keep going.

            ‘You do know it’s raining don’t you?’ He said.

Eve nodded and avoided eye contact. With that she slipped through the back door. Bugger! As soon as she was outside she broke into a jog, making her way through the grounds to the rear of the block and past the bins. ‘Fuck!’ she muttered. ‘Fuck…fuck…fuck!’

            She initiated a slow count of ten to the rhythm of her run to get her mind in order; she increased her mental tempo then adjusted her jog to that pace. She maintained her warm-up pace until she reached the road leading down to a remote shingle beach. That area of the road was in complete darkness; she felt safe. Eve increased her beat of ten to a higher tempo and progressed into a run. As her tempo increased so did her breath. The interaction between her and the man played over in her mind. Why hadn’t she paid more attention?

            She picked up her pace. The rain collided with her chin and bounced off; the rest of her face was shielded by the cap and avoided the sharp impacts. Eve focused her attention on the sound of the rain and the roar of the sea. There was something so ardent about the darkness, the pounding rain and the crashing waves. She soon relaxed, the tension of that chance meeting slowly falling away; she was alone, back in her dark space. She increased her pace and headed towards the sodden sand as the tide was some way out and purposely ran into the wind. The more difficult her training was, the comparative life-death situations would be easier.

            Once Eve was in the full rhythm she flipped her mind to the two men and re-scanned the mental images. How was she going to terminate them? It had to be subtle, yet terrifying. They deserved to suffer! Those bastards were going to get it!

She could feel her body and mind following the usual routine: after twenty minutes of rhythmic breathing she felt her dormant anger and frustration rising. She should learn to control that anger that always manifested itself when she recalled the sordid crimes of the jerks who she targeted and so effectively terminated. Eve pushed herself and pounded over the sand and focused on what she felt.

            The methodology nagged at her. How was she going to do it? She sprinted and hurdled a groyne, the beach was lower by nearly a metre on the other side. The extra drop threw her off balance for a second. She quickly recovered and returned to her repetitious motion. She tried to focus on the roar of the sea to blank out her frustration and smouldering anger. The clouds parted to reveal the moon shimmering on the sea’s surface. It was beautiful; however, Eve clenched her fists and kept running. For a short spell the rain stopped but a few hundred metres on it started again this time it felt harder, more vicious.

            The hour of mental churning and speculative plans, grabbed then discarded, Eve had hammered out a strategy. She knew how she would do it. She would just go for the obvious. Keep it simple had often been a wise approach. The more detail and more complications just made it that much more possible for some element to go wrong. The specifics weren’t there yet, but that was not the point. She had the goal, she had the outcome - she just needed to work on the process. In the meantime she had to go and find them, survey them and establish behavioural patterns to make sure her plan could be safely and effectively executed.

            She ran towards a dark spit of land with an almost vertical path that snaked up the rising headland to a bench and a lookout point. She gritted her teeth put her head down and pushed herself and sprinted the incline until her heart thumped through her chest. There it was again - the anger bubbling as her blood raced. She wondered fleetingly if adrenalin rush brought on her anger. The pounding of her heart was supercharged with the adrenalin from the anger and resentment. She needed to focus that anger on her targets and not waste it on a hill. Those men had to be exterminated.

            She purposely redirected her thoughts, God she wished she didn’t have to train anyone, allow entry into ‘her’ world. Her world was her own and it was not to be invaded by anyone. Eve stood for a moment at the top by the lookout point; she could see in all directions. There was no-one to be seen, no-one nearby. She paced for a while before sitting on the bench in the rain, focusing for a moment on her true feelings, it was always the same - she was able to see inside herself after that muscle burn and adrenalin rush up that hill.

            She played back the debriefing and what she kept back from Sue and the CLAN. Her rage welled up, her scar ached and she gazed up at the sky, rain stung her upturned face. Her throat constricted violently throwing her forward into a convulsing retch. Tears joined the torrent of water on her cheeks. For a short while she sobbed. She cried silently until she could cry no more. The rain merged with her tears and no would ever be able to say they saw her cry. It was her time.

            Every time she focused on her emotions - she felt something was missing, like something wasn’t there anymore, or had something been removed? Eve had no idea what it was, but it was there, dormant. She silently wiped her eyes and nose and stared down at the lights in the harbour. Why did that keep happening to her? Why did she keep re-living the same emotional sensations? Why couldn’t she understand them and let them go forever?

            She rose from the bench and paced for a while, her body communicating with her muscles to get them ready for the return run. At the same time, as much as she didn’t want to face the truth, she realised it was part of a pattern: once out in the open she would run, grow angry then retch. It would make her feel like the pain was leaving her body. Maybe it was the killing doing it to her. Eve shook her head, when she killed she felt hatred, but no remorse. The killing had become automatic and that confused her. She had initially thought the more she killed, the more the pain would be avenged and subside within her. No. That was far from the truth - if anything her response was the opposite. With every death she witnessed a mental image of a face staring helplessly at her. That face belonged to someone she had once known, but who was it? She sensed she hated and loved him simultaneously – and why was it a man? Every time his face entered her mind the sheer agony was back, her heart ached, her body ached, she convulsed. Once the physical reaction subsided, she ached inside, longing for him to return but dreading it at the same time – the vicarious combination of love or hate that are so close to be almost indivisible. But, who was he?

 

 

 

 

To buy on Audible:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-Thrillers/Clan-Destine-Dead-Women-Have-Vendettas-Audiobook/B015YJ3P8K/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1444588860&sr=1-1

 

Chapter 4 CLAN DESTINE - Dead Women Have Vendettas

http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-Thrillers/Clan-Destine-Dead-Women-Have-Vendettas-Audiobook/B015YJ3P8K/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1444588860&sr=1-1

 

CHAPTER 4

 

Following the usual system Eve sat in a white room and went over all the supplied information. Some of it was in the form of newspaper articles, others were photographs. Eve studied the likenesses of the two men, and as ordered, committed their specifics to memory. She was looking for details that would reveal something about them. Something more than what was in the file. Their eyes were dark, not connected to their brains. The shorter one had a sort of twisted face – maybe he had been in a car crash and his face had been rebuilt – possibly making him question his self-worth and instead of trying to chat up the girls in his inadequacy it had become easier just to snatch when he had the urge.  Lloyd was his name, he looked old and bitter. Like someone with a Woodbine voice who spoke like people traipsing over gravel.

            The other scum, John, looked like any man on the street from the left side. He seemed relatively young, although the photographs taken from different angles and heights identified the tell-tale balding. However, one particular aspect caught her attention: he had a vertical scar dividing his eyebrow, cutting into his upper cheek. That scar was deep. It tugged on his bottom lid and exposed that pink wetness that held the eye in its socket. Eve knew the physical pain he must have endured to maintain such a wound. Was that a real eye or a glass one?

            She chewed her lip, sucking some of her clear lip balm off; that scar was individual and clearly identified him. Was it any wonder the victims maintained a vague recognition when he was amongst the line up? It must have a vaguely luminous quality and in any half-light rape scene would be engraved into the psyche of the victim.

            Eve read the accusations: the men merrily rounded up numerous young people from night clubs with the suggestion of a party. They plied them with their homemade date rape pills either GHB or Rohypnol. Once the victims were under the influence they were taken to either of their rented houses and repeatedly abused. In the morning they awoke in some alleyway dishevelled and totally disorientated with a hole in their memory of the previous evening’s events. The giveaway was an unmistakable physical pain.

            Eve felt the surge of blood constricting her throat and placed her hand on her neck; she could trace the raised vein, it always hardened and was prominent when she got really angry about the bastards and their behaviour. She struggled to control the surge. Eve took a breath, her face was flushed. Tapping to the rhythm of ten enabled her to re-focus. Pulling herself together she studied their faces once more. She resolved to remove them from the earth’s surface as soon as possible, in the most degrading way. 

            Taking a break, she glanced around the room and clicked her pen quietly to the beat of ten. Eve read on, the clicking filled the empty space with an aggravated tone. On the end of a ten beat Eve turned the page.

            The files revealed that the men, after abusing their victims, took them to outdoor locations such as parks and laid them on benches. The victims often suffered hypothermia, or wondered aimlessly, scantily clad, unaware of what had actually taken place. Eve’s clicking tempo increased. How could they do that? What made them think they had the right? It was heavy stuff and every word built a solid hatred for them both. The bastards were hopeless inadequates who deserved Eve’s focused attention.  She would enjoy their termination and intended to create for them the perfect strategic demise.

            After another break, she considered how she would choose to annihilate such people. They didn’t deserve a clean death, it would be drawn out and painful. Eve clicked ten; there were numerous ways she could kill them. She chewed her pen, she needed a simple but painful death, one that appeared like an accident but didn’t need too much research. Yes she could blow them apart, it would be spectacular but would lead to a full-scale murder inquiry.

            She glanced about the walls, her response was being recorded. Sue was more than likely studying her facial expressions and emotional response, analysing her for subconscious gestures. Eve took a deep breath, she had to keep it together, she had to concentrate. She must not show her anger and rage. If the CLAN thought that these men had got to her, she would be whitewashed for sure. No way!

            Click, click, to the beat of ten. Was it feasible to kill them together and make them look as though they had accidentally killed each other? Maybe she could make it look like some perverted sexual act, she could use their own depraved techniques against them. Eve sighed, was it better to take one out at a time? She clicked her pen more rigorously and adjusted her hand so the pen was under the table. She intended to appear to be in control and send the right signals to those who were watching. 

            Eve scanned the articles once more and committed the second wave to memory. She used an association technique. That way she could continue working without any form of documentation in front of her. Eve glanced up at the camera and nodded. ‘Finished.’

            When she was sure everything was complete she arranged the papers exactly in line with the table. Each paper’s edge perfectly aligned in a pile and each pile’s edge exactly ten centimetres from the table boundary. She wondered whether they would notice and put that on her file as well. She fought with herself not to ruffle them but her innate need to be precise was just too strong to permit her to change the file formation.

            Eve stood up, arched her back and pushed out her chest, stretching and relieving the muscle ache from sitting hunched over files. ‘I’m finished,’ she said again. She brushed herself down, flicking invisible specks from her plain black suit. Finally she looked defiantly straight into the camera. ‘I said I was finished, now let me out!’ she demanded.

            The door was released remotely with an electronic click. It swung open to permit her to leave, she did so with a bit of a swagger. Eve navigated the hard marble floor along the length of the white corridor in serious thought. The other women who worked for the CLAN acknowledged her, but knew not to chat; instead they continued walking. They had been informed about Eve and knew not to disturb her after she had been given a new project. For a moment she paused by a window and peered over the cliff-top out to the sea. She watched the white horses racing onto the beach atop the black oily waves. The wind was westerly again. Eve glanced at the clouds, they were lifted at the edge and foretold of high winds in the stratosphere. The weather was going to get worse. Of course it worked in her favour: not many people ran in the rain, well not many of sound mind. And today of all days she needed to be alone, the rain and its monotonous beat would give her space to think. Eve descended the metal steps to the exit. Gemma sat motionless in a high-backed chair like a waxwork figure. She watched numerous monitors that revealed nothing of interest.

            ‘So do you have any idea how you’re going to do it yet?’ She said jerking into life. Eve shook her head. ‘You always ask me that question. The best ideas don’t happen straight away, they have to brew. I allow my subconscious some churning time while I run and when it’s ready it will reveal the most apt solution to me.’

            ‘I wish I had a mind like yours. You could have put it to great things. You know, like Nobel prizes or something. Not just killing,’ said Gemma.

            ‘I have put it into something worthwhile. Killing is what I’m good at,’ said Eve sharply. Eve sighed, Gemma was so fixated by how she made her plans. ‘But Gemma you intend to train to become what I am.’

Gemma nodded, ‘I just get the impression that your mind is so advanced that killing people seems a bit of a waste.’

Eve could see her point, the way I see it Gem - is that what I do is actually a great thing. I am ridding the world of people who cause pain to people who don’t deserve to suffer. I protect the innocents from enduring agony. What’s better than that?’

            ‘I can think of numerous things. Sex and chocolate for a start. Although I think I’ll stay on your good side. Sometimes Eve you bloody scare me!’ She said.

Eve shrugged, ‘I don’t eat chocolate. Anyway you know I don’t do anything to anyone who doesn’t deserve it.’

Gemma looked Eve up and down, finding it hard not to reveal her admiration. ‘I really wish someone like you didn’t do this. I know there’s a wonderful person buried beneath that harsh exterior.’

Eve shook her head. ‘Not any more Gemma, she disappeared a long time ago... Now as much as I enjoy you attempting to persuade me to return to real life - it just won’t happen. As long there’s a scar on my body there’ll be no change.’

            ‘I know Eve... I just think… well you have a lot more to you.’ Gemma wasn’t going to let it go.

Eve patted Gemma on the arm. ‘We all have a lot more to us, we just make choices to enable us to survive.’ 

With that Gemma pressed a door release button. A door rolled back revealing a second door and then a third. Eve stepped into the first and waited for it to close. She would follow the exit routine, which was just a reversal of the entry regime. The second door opened and Eve stepped through. Finally the third door opened onto the edge of a path leading up the cliff face.

            Eve hiked the cliff face and sat up at the top of the cliff on a viewing platform. The cutting wind ruffled her hair as she stared out to sea. The images of her two targets rampaged through her mind. She leant back on the bench and twirled a strand of hair. She had to act fast because it was often the case that when people were released from prison they quickly fell back into old habits. The familiarity of the environment was often the trigger. They would certainly frequent their old haunts and old friends. That is all they had to hold on to when in prison. That was why they were given a contact on the outside, someone they could meet. Eve wondered whether she should ‘buddy’ them. That could be her way in, her way of meeting them face to face. She shook her head, why did she feel compelled to meet them in person? Usually she just investigated them, did the job and it was over. Was his livid scar bothering her? What had caused him to turn him into such a monster? Maybe the scar didn’t have any bearing at all. Eve unintentionally snapped her hair. The pain must have twisted him, the same way it had twisted her.

            Eve swung her leg to the beat of ten. When she slowed the beat, she slowed her breath and her heart. Eve fixated on the curl of the snapped strand; what exactly made a man rape or molest an innocent person? Why did they believe they had the right to force another?  Why were they allowed back into society? She found a piece of skin on her cuticle and played with it until she tore it off. She didn’t understand. Was it the sense of power? Was it the level of control? Or was it simply madness? It had to stop.

            She completed her cycle of ten beats, stood up and made her way to her car. She climbed in and sat for a moment. What about the girl she was going to be working with? How was she like her? What could she have been through to become a killer without conscience? Eve turned the key in the ignition and made a firm resolution: she would not trust her. She would show her how she worked, but that was all. She never intended to trust again.

 

To Buy on Audible:

http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-Thrillers/Clan-Destine-Dead-Women-Have-Vendettas-Audiobook/B015YJ3P8K/ref=a_search_c4_1_1_srImg?qid=1444588860&sr=1-1